In Love And In Need Of Help
by give em enough rope
Summary: The romantic exploits of the dashing and gallant Sir Gareth of Naxen as he boldly attempts to woo the love of his life. ITHOTG timeline...[NOW COMPLETE! ]
1. In which Gary and Jon have Poetic Issues

Summery: a collection of scenes depicting the romantic exploits of the dashing and gallant sir Gareth of Naxen (the younger). ITHOTG time period.

Chapter The first…. In which Jon and Gary have Poetic Issues.

Gary's POV

Normally, my cousin and I would never be caught inside on a day like this; the sun was shining, the sky was cloudless and pristine, and the weather was just right for swimming. Usually, we'd be out riding, or in the city, or _something_. And yet, both Jonathon and I were slumped dejectedly in my humid room, desperately searching our empty skulls for poetic inspiration. In my experience, poetry is sort of a soft option. However, when the going gets tough…the tough will try anything. The reason for our sad downfall could be summed up I one word: women. More specifically, women who were averse to giving us the time of day, much less their love. And so, Jon and I were spending every spare moment attempting to convey our passion through verse. To say we were pathetic would be an understatement.

"What rhymes with 'sapphire eyes'?" I asked.

"Mmm…. I don't know…convincing lies? No definitely not…how about…heartfelt sighs? Great hair dye?" I suppressed a groan of frustration. I'd never win Cythera at this rate! Perhaps if I complemented her dress…?

A loud crash in the hall outside, followed by an explicit stream of curses interrupted my train of though abruptly. Alan shot through my door and slammed it after him as if he was being chased by a horde of angry wolverines with pitchforks. Another set of curses came from the hall. Alan's eye's darted around my room, a panicked expression on his face. Someone pounded on my door. Alan crawled hastily under my bed, pausing only to fix Jonathon and me with a threatening glare.

"I'm not here!" he informed us decisively, before shooting under the bed.

Before I could even process what had happened, my door was thrust open yet again. An irate Raoul stood in the frame, white with rage and inexplicably shoeless.

"Think carefully, " he growled at me, "have you seen Alan anywhere?"

"No," I said, eyeing him warily, "sorry mate."

"Stupid bastard" Raoul muttered, "He's got my shoes." Nodding at me, he took off down the hall, pounding on doors. Alan emerged from under my bed, looking slightly ruffled.

"He said you had his shoes…" Jon said, sounding confused, "Alan, what in the world—"

" A misunderstanding. Nothing more. " The younger boy replied, waving his knight-master off, "think nothing of it. Long story, anyways. Smoothing his shirt fastidiously, he fixed us with a vaguely mocking smirk." So… you two love birds still hard at it, eh? The Moping is coming along well, I hope?"

"Yeah, well" I began defensively, but was interrupted by my cousin who'd clearly had some sort of epiphany.

"Alan! You'd know girls!" he cried excitedly with a slightly crazed look in his eyes.

"I…suppose…?" he asked cautiously. I eyed my friend curiously. He'd never shown any sign of knowledge towards the female species. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps it was a clever ruse…

"Here!" Jon was saying "read this, and tell my what you think!" eyeing us both with a bemused expression the younger boy turned his attention to the long sheet of paper, Jon had thrust into his hand. I watched with amusement at Alan's features contorted into an expression of horror. Finishing, he looked unsure whether to laugh or weep. Composing his features into a carefully blank expression, he took a deep breath.

"Uh…well…it has some good…rhymes? I mean, I think you're improving!" he said, attempting to sound encouraging. His facial muscles twitched, as if he was unused to keeping his expression so empty. It was an impressive act, if I do say so myself. At least, I thought so. But Jonathon's face fell immediately.

"I knew it." He moaned bitterly, "It's rubbish. Delia will never love me at this rate."

Looking as if he was trying to resist rolling his eyes, Alan told him, "it's not that bad, you know. Just…take out the Ode to Her Bosom. Please. "

"You think?" Jon mused, "I rather liked that one" Alan winced visibly.

"Trust me on this one" he said.

"Alan" I asked him suddenly, " honestly, how do you think we're doing?" He eyed my carefully be fore answering.

"Gary, " he told me, as if weighing each word before saying it, " with all due respect, you're doomed."

"You're sure?"

"Positive, I'm afraid."

He was right. The time had come for Drastic Action.

TBC 

**AN: Dun Dun Dun! What will our heroes get up to next? Tune in next week to find out…when you review (because of course YOU WILL!) If anyone has ideas for oneshots, please give them to me… they must include: two characters, a place, and three random objects. They could be from any one of the tortall books. (Or even Harry potter, if you lean that way…) So…REVIEW! **


	2. In Which Blessings come in Odd Packages

AN: ta daa! After a spectacular case of writer's block, chapter two is up! As it is, I'm a bit so-so on this chapter but whatever… you all know not to take these things seriously, right? Speaking of which…

Disclaimer: not mine in the slightest. While I have your attention, I'd like to mention that (this being remembrance day and all) in a slightly bizarre tribute I'm dedicating this chapter to all of the people who fought, and are still fighting, for peace.

Chapter the second… in which blessings come in odd packages

_**There's a lot to be said for self-delusionment when it comes to matters of the heart. **_

_Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider_

_Dear Sir,_

_Thank you for you sweet letter and charming poem. You're too kind. I am, naturally, very flattered, but I must confess that you profess feelings for me that I cannot even hope to reciprocate. However, I accept your offer to escort me to the next ball, provided, you do so with no only out of friendship without any expectations. _

_Yours truly,_

_Cythera_

_P.S. I'm so glad you liked my dress. Your stanza dedicated to in was too kind. I bought it from a lovely shop down on Weaver's Lane that sells all sorts of delightful-_

"You wrote her a poem about her _dress_?"Raoul demanded incredulously, "and then, you wonder why she didn't fall madly in love with you! You idiot."

"I only dedicated one stanza to the dress." I snapped defensibly.

"She wrote you a very nice letter though." Alan commented sarcastically from where he was perched on George's bed in the Dancing Dove.

"Let you down real easy, " the thief, agreed, straight-faced.

"I particularly enjoyed how she allows you to "escort" her to the ball, in "friendship"." Jon told me, grinning, "that was a nice touch; now she can waltz in on your arm, ignore you for the rest of the evening, and still not come out looking like a heartless bitch from some ballad. Very smooth."

"Hey," Raoul cried excitedly, "she's using double negatives! Two negatives equal a positive, I remember that much about math!"

"Not if you're adding." Alan pointed out, a little pessimistically, in my opinion.

"Well, let's see…two positives is another positive, not that that helps here…multiply a positive and a negative that's another negative, add a positive and a negative…" Ripping the letter from my hands, Jon scanned it quickly.

"I don't think it uses double negatives at all." He commented.

"Let me see!" George ordered him. "No, she does; look, there, and there!"

"Sure," Jon replied derisively, "if you want to count that as _anything_!"

"Shut up, you morons!" I barked in annoyance. How could they not see what this meant? "Who cares how many negatives she uses? My life, as of now, is over! My heart is crushed, my love in a million pieces on the floor and then swept up and thrown out with the other rubbish." My speech over, I slumped forward in my chair. Histrionic? Yes, I admit it, but what can I say? Life as a Player had beckoned, but it was hardly suitable for a person of my status.

"I still think you're overreacting." Alan informed me matter-of-factly. " She's pretty, I suppose…but even you have to admit she's a bit, well, dim." I chose not even to justify that absurd comment with a response. I settled for sending him a withering glare, instead. Alan's a nice guy, and he's pretty smart. But he has an appalling sense of timing.

"Hang on!" Jon cried excitedly, "this may just turn out to be a blessing in disguise for both of us!" I eyed him skeptically. If he could put a positive spin on this, I'd eat my hat. Maybe. "Look!" he continued, "she mentions her favorite store in the postscript. All you have to do is buy her a bunch of junk and she'll swoon headfirst into your waiting arms! It's foolproof! Come on!" without waiting for a reply, my cousin clattered down the steps, and onto the street below.

"I'm off, I suppose." I said, glancing apologetically at my friends, "someone has to make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

Alan shook his head dramatically. "And they say 'love will make fools of us all.' Hah!" He muttered, "love's going to make us all bloody insane!"

TBC…very soon!

AN: please review! Thanks to my highly intelligent and attractive reviewers from chapter one, Saphron, Mage of Dragons, and Daine's twin. Chapter three, "in which there is too much lace" is coming soon. I hope.


	3. In Which There Is Too Much Lace

**Disclaimer: not mine. In case you were under the impression that I was, indeed tamora pierce and that this was all some clever plan to confuse all my fans. **

AN: ok, so it's not up as soon as I would have liked, but hey, what can I say? I'm a lazy bum… oh, and anyone who's ever gone to one of those really snobby boutique stores and felt ridiculously out of place will definitely feel for our intrepid adventurers in this chapter!

Chapter 3: In Which there is too much Lace

"_Love is a state in which a man sees things most decidedly as they are not."_

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

The shop to which my bold cousin and I bravely ventured was an out of the way place in a building that could perhaps be tactfully described as "cosy". However, not even the most diplomatic person could describe it as tasteful in any way, shape, or form. Every square inch of it was painted an offensively bright shade of lavender; the windows were hung with gaudy lace drapes tied back with sizeable silk tassels. The clerks were attired in identical sky blue gowns, and matching vapid smiles. Half the room was crammed with various articles of lady's clothing, the other overflowing with jewellery cases, cosmetic displays, piles of shoes, and corsets made in seemingly every shape possible. Everything in the store seemed to be made out of the same material as the curtains. To say Jon and I felt mildly conspicuous would be putting it kindly. It was as if someone had just nominated my father for "eligible bachelor of the year". It was just too much hell to deal with. I thought so, anyways. Actually, Jon looked remarkably at ease. He was examining a pair of flimsy negligees critically, when a blond shopkeeper glided towards us, vacant expression firmly in place.

"May I help you gentlemen with anything?" she asked us.

"No! I mean, no, not at the moment." I muttered unintelligibly, my cheeks burning, "we're uh, just looking. Yes, that's right. We're…just browsing."

"Of course, sir," she continued smoothly, putting just enough condescending resonance on the "sir" to make it mocking without being flat-out rude. I would have been impressed, if I wasn't insulted. "Just to let you gentlemen know, we're having a sale on all our cosmetic products."

"Really?" Jon inquired coolly, "That's excellent. I need some things." He told the clerk, flashing me a barely visible wink. To my amazement, the clerk didn't bat an eye. Hiding our smirks, we turned away, poking through a pile of flimsy scarves. As we continued to search for Mithros knows what, Jon grabbed my arm and fixed me with a serious frown.

"Gary," he began distractedly, "I really don't know how to ask you this, but…have you ever wondered what Alan looked like in a dress?' before I could even begin to wonder what the correct answer to that could possibly be, he had turned, muttering something incomprehensible, and rushed out the doors.

We spent the majority of the walk back to the palace in silence, each contemplating our own thoughts. It was occurring to me that, perhaps I should have seen this coming. We'd all heard the rumours. This wasn't exactly cheering me up however. Having an heir who, well, "duelled for the other side", so to speak, could be considered a Very Bad Thing indeed. We continued on our way, my mind whirling with thoughts along similar lines. I wasn't sure I even wanted to know what Jon's thoughts were. Sometimes it's best not to know. But this was one time that I was going to have to ask.

"So, Jonathon…" I began casually, "just how are things on the Delia front anyways?"

"Actually," he responded glumly as we reached the palace gates, "they seem to be improving."

"So…Why aren't you thrilled?" I asked, heart pounding, hoping to mithros that the answer wasn't going to be "I prefer guys, to tell you the truth. incidentally, I'm in love with my squire, and I can't make it to the ball on Thursday, since we're running away to Carhtak in the morning. How about drinks on Tuesday at eight instead?" anything would be better than that.

"Well actually," he replied, "don't mention this to the other guys, but I may have my eye on someone else." I made some non-committal noise in the back of my throat as I felt my heart speed up painfully. "It's ironic really," he continued, "see, just when Delia starts paying attention to me, well… I lost interest, I guess…" please don't tell me its Alan, I prayed desperately. Or Raoul. Or Alex. Goddess, let it be some whore from the lower city, let it be Cythera, just don't let it be a man. And if it is, please, don't let it be me!

"Gary!" my cousin snapped, "are you listening to me? I told you, there's someone else!" he stopped in the hall, peering at my closely, "are you alright? You look a tad peaky."

"I heard…just it's a bit of a shock after you were so infatuated with Delia. I was surprised."

"You're telling me," he agreed reverently.

"So. Who is it?" I asked, gritting my teeth in anticipation of the answer. Silence met my query. "Hello? I asked you-"

"I can't tell you" he muttered, "you'd laugh. But Gary," he continued sounding upset, "you can't tell anyone! No one."

"Alright" I agreed. A thought struck me. "Does Alan know?"

"No!" Jon cried turning pale, a remarkable feat for someone with his colouring, "and he can't. At least, not yet."

"Just tell me," I began hesitantly, "is it…a girl?' to my considerable surprise and relief, he burst out laughing.

"Definitely!" He told me, grinning, "though perhaps not in the most orthodox or conventional sense of the word."

TBC

AN: and so, another chapter is finished… stay tuned for the next instalment…(tentatively titled In which Gary is stormed by a bizarre society) Please review! And tell me how you want this to end…in some ways I'd like a Gary-gets-the-girl story, but in others I think it's more realistic if he fails miserably…opinions please!

To My Highly Attractive And Intelligent Reviewers from last week:

Daine's twin: last I checked, I definitely not Australian…why did you think I was? Should I be flattered or offended? You're right, not much happened, but I have reason for it! Originally, it was part of this chapter, but it needed some serious work!

Sunkissed Guacamole: you obviously have excellent taste…lol! Thanks. You can't see it but I'm blushing madly over here! Not often I get called brilliant.

Jules: I have updated! (no shit, Sherlock…not you, me!) yes the shoe thing is an unexplained mystery, for now at least. It may resurface later. Or turn into a bizarre and random oneshot.


	4. In Which There Are The Usual Suspects

AN: amazing! The next chapter is actually here! Thank you to all who reviewed. I responded to all of you with that handy dandy review response thing (how long has that been around?) unless you were anonymous, in which case, see the bottom of the page, as per usual.

Chapter four: In Which There Are the Usual Suspects 

"_Insanity in individuals is rare, but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule._" – Freidrich Nietzsche

"You can add this onto the list of reasons you love me!" my insolent squire, Sacharell informed me smugly, beaming at me in a disgustingly cheerful manner. Personally, I saw no particular reason to be even slightly grateful. At an ungodly hour this morning, Alan, Jon, Raoul, Sacharell, and his eternal sidekick Douglas had broken down the door to my room, stormed in, pounced on my sleeping form, and tied me to a chair. In no way, shape, or form, did I find this to be a cause for general rejoicing.

"Really?" I asked my soon-to-be-former friends incredulously, "I'm dying to know how exactly this benefits me. Do enlighten me, please. Preferably before these damn ropes cut off my circulation." Raoul had the good grace to look slightly guilty.

"Ahem. Yes, well," he began apologetically, "perhaps we got a tad carried away." I snorted indignantly. "But we had to make sure you'd listen to us!" He continued with a bit more conviction.

"It's for your own good!" Douglas added cheerfully. I'd never liked Douglas.

"These things always are." I muttered, seething furiously. Alan tutted at me.

"Gary, we've put a lot of time and effort into this!" he snapped, sounding inexplicably miffed. No doubt it was the early hour. He never was a morning person. "Allow me," he continued, "to introduce you to: Romance Assistance For The Hopeless. RAFTH for short. We're here to assist and support you with your predicament."

I said the first thing that came to into my head. A mistake, as it turned out. "Please, mithros," I prayed, "Make them go away." I finished with a tiny whimper.

"Well, I like this," Jon commented explosively, "after all the thought we've put into this, all you do is…is…Gary, we're trying to help!"

I will pause my narrative briefly to explain a matter that is, no doubt, bothering you. Please note, that it wasn't as if I wasn't touched by my friend's endeavors on my behalf. I was, in a backwards way. But… my friend's collective opinion on love was less than romantic. They had trained with the finest at the love-her-and-shove-her school of thought, and were proud members of the fuck-her-and-chuck-her society. Whatever I wanted with Cythera -and I still wasn't sure- it wasn't that.

"Look," Alan was saying, "I've snooped around a bit, and it seems that her ladyship values music above all other virtues."

"So," my squire continued happily, "we've prepared you a song to sing to your lady love!"

"And the details are all taken care of!" Raoul reassured me.

"Everything is taken care of!" Jon told me, "It's foolproof!" I just gaped at them with a mixture of awe and horror.

"Have any of you morons ever heard me sing?" I demanded, " I sound like a drunk cat with a chain around its neck!"

Douglas fixed me with a condescending stare. "Gary," he told me calmly, "all that's been taken into account. You'll have an instrument to accompany you, and hopefully distract from your voice. Are you better with a lute or a harp?"

"Are you thinking _at all_?" Alan demanded. I felt a flicker of hope, which went out as quickly as it came, when he continued, "how are you planning on lugging a harp onto her balcony?"

"You're right. Better make it a lute then." Douglass replied.

"I've never touched a lute in my life!" I cried hysterically, "I'm not even sure I know what it looks like!"

"Details, Gary," Jon reminded me sternly, "that's why we're here."

"We're here to help in any way we can." Raoul added. I grimaced, feeling slightly dazed.

"Brilliant." I muttered, "That's exactly what I need."

"Right," Jon said, "now go into the garden through the east gate. Douglas will meet you with the lute. Go past the statue of Wesley the Inconceivable, and make a left at the rose bush. Find the pond. Her room is the third up on the left. Alan and Sacharell will be waiting with the ladder. Clear?"

"Painfully clear." I replied.

"Excellent!" he cried, "so we're a all set for tonight!"

"No!" I cried hastily, "I have…uh…a pressing engagement that can't be postponed. Sorry and all that."

"Listen to him" my squire, who seemed to have mysteriously developed a death wish, said fondly, "I already checked. You don't have anything tonight. He'll be there, " he continued, addressing the others, "and so will we." He finished threateningly.

TBC

AN: so, another chapter. I have a case of semi-writer's block, so it might be a while. When you review, please tell me if you want Gary and Cythera to end up together, and tell me one line you want in the song! Bonus points, and a sneak preview of the next chapter if you can tell me the movie that inspired the title for this chapter. Thanks to the highly intelligent and attractive group of people who reviewed the last chapter.

Jules: thanks for your vote! I still haven't decided, but I aim to please! 

**Confusedpink: **I'm glad you find it interesting. I'm attempting to be original! Is it working?

**And a note for Daine's twin…**I'm sorry you're not partying. Ah well…btw, don't give your drunken friends coffee. You'll end up with a wide-awake drunk on your ands, I know from experience. And orange juice is the ultimate hangover cure. I kid you not.


	5. In which there Is Much Humiliation

AN: uhh…remember me? I apologise for not posting in a very, very long time. I have many excuses, each more pathetic than the last. And after all that, I must confess that this chapter is not great. I tried rewriting it several times and it just doesn't really flow…ah, well, please hang in there, the next chapter's better, I promise.

**Disclaimer: Tamora Pierce is rolling in her grave. **

In which there is a meeting with Mortality 

_If at first you don't succeed, failure may be your style. **-**Quentin Crisp_

As twilight fell, I found myself being escorted to one of the Lesser Garden's by a stoic looking Raoul. I'd spent the entire day in varying states of panic. Despite what my friends claimed, I could not get around the fact that there was one, single, seriously inescapable flaw in this whole plan: the entire thing hinged on my musical talent. Or in my case, lack of it. My associates seemed deaf to my protests, however, and so, wearing my best shirt, nails chewed to nothing, and sweating profusely, I went with as much pizzazz, dignity, swagger and courage as I could muster to meet my fate.

Jon and Douglass were already waiting, bearing a cumbersome lute between them.

"Just relax and sing from your heart," Jon advised, "this is foolproof."

"That's what you said about the poetry," I growled pointedly.

"ancient history, my friend," Jon replied airily, "water under the bridge, you might say! This is revolutionary! Brand new! She'll melt, I promise!"

Now, with all due respect to my cousin, (which given some of his past ideas, might not be a whole lot) he has got to be the most irritating optimist in the world. Because he's only this resourceful when it comes to other people's misery. When he finds a girl he likes, he mopes around writing bad poetry and snapping at his faithful squire and log-suffering friends. No coercion into elaborate musical schemes for him! Oh no. But when it comes to his cousin, he's knee deep in the muck, and eager for more. Little bugger. And yes, I'm aware that's not really the most charitable of thoughts, considering he'll be king some day. It's none of your business anyways.

At this point, Alan came crashing through the gate, panting and out of breath.

"Bad news, boys," he gasped, bent double, "it seems Sacherelle forgot to actually, you know, _write_ the song. Remind me why we're friends with him again? Anyways, Gary, I'm afraid you're going to have to improvise." I was speechless, possibly for the first time in my life.

"listen you idiots!" I snarled in the most dangerous tone of voice I could muster, "you have got to be kidding! I am not going to get up there, in front of the _love of my life_, and _improvise_, using an instrument I _don't know how to play_!"

"Hey, not our fault you never learned!" Douglass pointed out defensively. I chose to ignore that, rounding on my friends again.

"Do you even care if you ruin my life?" I cried angrily.

"erm, not sure on that one, " Jon muttered, "Raoul? Do we care?"

"I'm not sure either," the big knight replied, contemplating the idea, "I don't _think_ so. We never really considered it."

Alan silenced the two with a look. "Gary," he began in a deceptively reasonable tone that triggered my first stirrings of alarm, "we are renting this lute, at an extremely steep rate, for one night only. We have given up our sleep to help you. And to top it off, we've put up with your wishy-washy, irritating, obstructions and tantrums over the whole issue. You _are_ going up there and you _are_ going to sing." Alan finished with a steely glint in his eye. Perhaps you'll think me a coward, but there was no arguing with him when he was like this, and you'd be a fool to try. I went.

Pale-faced and grim, I met Sacharell at the pond as promised. By now, I felt as if I was in the middle of one of those hellish nightmares, the kind where you go to the ball with no clothes on. I moved almost without thinking, as if I had no choice. I leant the rickety ladder he provided against Cynthera's balcony and climbed up, heaving the lute in front of me. Straightening up, I picked up the lute and strummed the strings experimentally, wincing at the sound. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I cleared my throat.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to myself, another, very important conversation was taking place at the bottom of the ladder. Looking back, it is possible that this was the dialogue that sealed, not just my fate for tonight, but that it sealed my fate for the rest of my life. In order to aid my narrative, I will add it in.

"Reckon we should tell him?" Douglass asked the group at large.

"He'll figure it out eventually," Jon replied with a smirk.

"She'll probably hear him anyways, so it's not a huge issue," Alan commented, grinning.

"and just think of the intense humiliation," Raoul added dreamily, "we could hold this over his head for weeks." Stifling chuckles, the boys retreated to the bushes to watch.

"my love," I began singing without much conviction, stringing the first things that came into my head together, "we belong together, like fire…and that stuff that starts it. Like fire and flint, I love you like a cat loves milk… Oh dear…" I warbled, searching desperately for inspiration and coming up dry. On all sides, people were coming out onto their balconies to gawk at me. I'd come this far. If I was going down, I was going far enough down that I wasn't coming back up. "You are the sun," I continued determinedly, " and I am a tree. Trees turn to the sun…we should be together, ship and sail, pen and paper, field and plough—" I trailed off as I realized how easily the last one could be misinterpreted, "not like that!" I corrected myself, "I meant, oh…" standing on the balcony beside me, was Cythera, gaping at me incredulously. A light flickered on in the room I was standing in front of. Several realisations came crashing down on my head, including, but not limited to, (a) Cythera was not in this room. Therefore, it was not her balcony. (b) if it's not hers, it belongs to someone else. (c) that someone is home. My life flashed before my eyes, and death by intense humiliation seemed definite, as I realised I had spent the last seven minutes serenading Sir Myles of Oleau.

**AN: Please review folks, it's always appreciated! **

**Many thanks to my fabulous reviewers Mage of Dragons, ****spunkyhufflepuff13****charlie and lola****Melsterchaos****bookwormsrock****Sunkissed Guacamole****, and midnight thunder. Special thanks to midnight thunder and bookwormsrock for the inspiration… **

**You folks are the gods at whose alters I worship. I love you all. Have a good one. **


	6. In which valuable information is given

**AN: look! Observe the wonder! It's out in only two weeks! A new record! I'm very proud of myself, can you tell? Oh, and please let me know if I butchered Sir Myles' character. I love him more than I love my liver, so I need to know…thank you** **kindly.**

Disclaimer: it's not mine, never was, and sadly, it never will be. I'd give quite a bit to own Gary…alas, all that I own is my laptop and harmonica.

**In which valuable knowledge is imparted. **

Trouble is only opportunity in work clothes. -Henry J. Kaiser 

"I will assume," Myles commented, ushering me into his apartments, "that your charming…we'll call it a song, shall we? I'll assume that it was meant for someone other than myself." Raising a bushy eyebrow, he glanced knowingly at me before continuing, "If through some misunderstanding, you happened to standing on my balcony by accident, well, we'll forget the incident ever happened and you can come in and have a drink. If you were serious, however, I regret to inform you that while I am rather flattered, I'm not looking for a relationship at this point in time," He finished, winking at me. "Brandy?' he asked, "You look as if you need it."

"I can't believe this," I whispered in mortification, "she never really liked me much in the first place, and now…what if she thinks I was making fun of her? " I asked desperately, "Or worse, what if she honestly thinks I'm in love with you? No offense," I added as an afterthought. "Sir Myles, I think I may have just blown my chances once and for all." Myles eyed me shrewdly for a few moments.

" So that's it then?" he asked, "you're just giving up? A Naxen, giving up the fight? Just like that, you're admitting defeat? Humph. " Sir Myles shook his head disapprovingly, "well, you'd know best, I suppose."

"There's no need to put it like that," I replied indignantly, stung, "and as for admitting defeat, I'd say defeat was sort of thrust upon me, wouldn't you?" Myles waved a hand airily in my direction.

"Not really," he told me, taking a deep gulp of the liquor in his glace, "look at it in terms of the big picture and you'll see that it's only a minor setback." I raised my eyebrows skeptically. I liked Sir Myles, and he had a lot of knowledge about a lot of different things. But when it came to love, the man was hardly Casanova. No, that title went to Jon, I thought bitterly. It occurred to me then that without Jon's advice, I wouldn't be here in the first place. An outside point of view could be helpful, I decided.

"may I enquire as to the identity of the lady in question?" myles asked, watching me closely. I sighed mournfully.

"I suppose," I replied sorrowfully, "its…Lady Cythera." I admitted, blushing slightly. An odd look of satisfaction playing across his face, Sir Myles smiled kindly at me.

"Well, there's no need to be embarrassed," he informed me, "you could do worse my boy. You could do much worse. Her father and I are old friends," he explained, "so she'll come talk to me sometimes when something's bothering her. I'm like her old eccentric uncle."

"Could you… maybe put in a word for me?" I demanded eagerly, "like, maybe how I'm a good sort, a little odd, but I never" Grinning openly, Myles held up a hand.

"Gary, Gary, Gary…" he chuckled, "if you'd so much as let me finish, you'd know that your position is not nearly as dire as you seem to think." He paused, eying me in case I seemed to be about to interrupt again. I remained silent, fidgeting in my chair with excitement. "Anyways," he continued, "recently, our conversations have been remarkably full of references to the "_dashing _Sir Gareth, who looked so _handsome_ when he made that _wickedly_ funny comment about that dreadfully stuffy old ambassador' and how 'Sir Gareth really is chivalry personified, and is always _so clever_ and _so charming_'…_" _Myles broke off, catching sight of my incredulous face. "I'm not teasing you." He informed me, with only a trace of smugness.

"Oh." I replied quietly. What else what there to say? "This changes things."

"Quite." Sir Myles agreed.

"But I don't understand," I began, "why hasn't she done anything? I've been pretty clear about how I feel." I pointed out.

"So you have," Myles agreed, mouth twitching slightly. "but she has many more obstacles than you. For one, our society is hardly kind to women who take their fate into their own hands. For a noble lady, doing so is nearly impossible, especially when it comes to marriage. Cythera's father is a nice man, but very traditional, and very strict. Not to mention a tad power-hungry. He wants her to make the most influential marriage possible, so she's a bit uneasy about getting attached to anyone in particular."

"I'm not influential!" I spluttered indignantly, "My father's the Prime Minister! I'm the Princes first cousin! Bragging aside, I'm probably the best match in the court, Jonathon aside, naturally."

Myles shrugged, "I know," he told me, "but she's understandably nervous. She needs a bit of persuasion. Off you go now," he said, shooing me out of his room, "let an old man sleep."

AN: and another chapter done…the plot thickens. Just two chapters left…I've really liked writing this story, and many thanks to all who read. :gestures enthusiastically at small button to the bottom left side of the page: please press! Thanks.

Highly intelligent and thoughtful reviewer from last chapter…

Music nerd, midnight thunder, the kanji wizard, on top of cloud 9, pink squishy llama, spunkyhufflepuff, sunkissed guacamole, calichic, wild-vixen. Many thanks and virtual pies.

CALICHIC;a quick note to thank you for the review. Yes, they are a tad evil, aren't they…that's why I love em …

MUSIC NERD: I am most awed. It's not everyone who has the fortitude to review every chapter, so thank you for that effort, and for your thoughts. I agree with your feelings on the ending, but I'm afraid we've been out-voted…and Gary's POV is fabulous, no? You should definitely use it. There are lots of options with it, so go nuts!

**THE KANJI WIZARD: definitely the nicest thing anyone's ever told me about my writing! Thank you also, for really deconstructing my writing to tell what you like about it rather than a "omg update." And if you have any criticism, PLEASE PLEASE tell me. I'm hugely picky, and you seem like someone who would catch all the little and not-so-little imperfections. Thanks again. **


	7. In which Fate has some fun

AN: and here it is….last chapter, not including an epilogue. It could be a bit of a wait until then, though…life is crazy…and patience is good. Sorry for the formatting on this one.

**Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Tamora Pierce and co. I own nothing, which is a pity, since I'd give quite a bit to own Gary…**

_But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way. _

-Jane Austen

"we need to talk," I hissed at Cythera at we waltzed at a stately pace around the ballroom. Despite the disaster of the previous evening, (hereafter referred to as "**that** night") Cythera had not revoked her promise of letting me escort her to the ball. However, though I came to the party brimming with hope at Myles's information, I had deflated faster than the pages on their first day. To say the last hour had been awkward would have been a gross understatement. Never overly warm, Cythera had been appallingly distant. Not that I could really blame her.

"there's been a…misunderstanding," I tried again, "and we should straighten it out."

"I suppose we should," she replied coolly, still not looking at me, "shall we go to your rooms?"

Surprised, I raised an eyebrow. The gossip mills, already working overtime after my midnight serenade of Sir Myles and Jon's rather public snub of Lady Delia last week, would likely explode if anyone got hold of this. That'd be it for her reputation, not to mention her chances at an advantageous marriage.

Looking as if she was resisting rolling her eyes, she hissed, "Have you got a better idea, Sir Gareth?"

I didn't, so I took her back to my rooms. It looked as if I had my work cut out for me this time.

After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, I gathered my courage and spoke. "Look," I began awkwardly, "I'll come right out and say it, I suppose, flowery speech never having been one of my fortes, but…do you have any sort of…you know, affection for me?" I asked her, "Cause if you don't, I promise to leave you alone, but I sort of thought…" I trailed off and eyed the pretty woman expectantly.

"You thought what?" she asked grimly, "I don't know how you normally court women, Sir Gareth, but I assure you, it hasn't worked on me. I may not be very worldly, nor particularly experienced, but somehow, I don't believe that you will win me over with nothing but some dreadful poetry."

"So…you…don't like me?" I stuttered, taken aback.

"No, Sir Gareth, I don't." she replied, perfect blue eyes beaming at me as if I was a toddler who had just read his first sentence. "I will admit, at first you had potential, being one of the few men who were both charming, and discreet about eying my breasts, and I was rather flattered by your attentions, but after your behavior last night, I have come to the conclusion that is nothing but a great joke to you, and I for one, refuse to play along!" she finished, nostrils flaring slightly.

I coughed slightly. "Ah. Yes. That." I replied expressively. Arching a delicate eyebrow, Cythera eyed me with haughty distain. "Lady, I promise you, that was a complete misunderstanding. For further details I suggest you take it up with Lords Raoul of Goldenlake, Alan of Trebond, or my dear cousin. I am in no way affiliated with them, and was, I assure you, an innocent victim of their 'help'" I explained in a rush, eying the petite blond across from me with expect.

Cythera's mouth twitched slightly. "really?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes," I told her earnestly, "I've never been this serious. Look. " I got to my knees and took both her hands in mine. "Cythera of Elden, I, Gareth of Naxen, do solemnly swear to love no one but you for as long as I live." As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back. It was one of those things that you said because you knew it was what the other person wanted to hear, something you said to appease and then get laid, without really meaning it. But at the same time, I knew I did mean it on some level. It was, to be honest, just too deep for a boy like myself to figure out.

Cythera studied me carefully for a moment. "Under the circumstances, Sir Gareth, I suppose that it would not be beneath my dignity to admit that you are rather nice to look at, and I do believe I am rather fond of you," She informed me quietly, smiling slightly, "are you happy?"

"For now, yes." I told her. My inner demons, which always sounded suspiciously like Jon, were screaming "kiss her, kiss her!" never one to ignore my instincts, I leant forward to obey the voices. But people, this is _my _life. And nothing was ever that easy. And so, just as our lips were about to brush, someone began pounding on the door.

"Gary!" a voice called, "are you in there? Open this door!"

"Is that your father?" Cythera demanded, ashen-faced.

"We've got to get you out of here!" I cried, panicking slightly.

"How?" she asked desperately, "there's no time!"

"Gary!" my Father called, "what's going on in there?"

"Quick," I told her, "into the closet." She dove into the closet as I hurried to the door and yanked it open. My father stood there imposingly, an annoyed look on his face.

"why aren't you at the ball?' he asked, peering into my room suspiciously.

"Not feeling well," I lied quickly, "I think it was the oysters. I've always had a delicate stomach." At this point, a distraction was offered in the form of Jonathon. hair disheveled, breathing hard, and eyes darting from right to left, he threw a hasty salute to my father before diving into my closet. A thud and two squeaks were heard. Jon's head popped out again.

"Gary," he asked with a confused expression, "are you aware that"

"Yes," I snarled, sending him a pointed look, "shut up."

Comprehension dawned on my cousin's face, "ah," he replied knowingly, winking, "say no more, say no more!" he told me, disappearing back into the closet.

"you live an interesting life, son," my father commented sardonically, "care to explain?" right on cue, Raoul and Alan arrived looking grim.

"seen Jonathon?" Alan demanded, "Delia's on the rampage again."

"the closet, hiding," I told them waspishly, without thinking. Purposely, Raoul strode towards the closet and yanked open the door.

"come on Jon," he said, reaching inside, "we drew straws. It's your turn to head her off." My big friend reached inside and yanked. An ungodly shriek was heard as Raoul yanked Cythera out by her hair. He froze, gaze darting back and forth between me, my father, and Cythera. He shrugged helplessly at me before gently shoving her back inside the closet. He and Alan left, sending curious glances back at us.

"Gary," my Father began, "was that _Cythera of Elden_ in your _closet_?" I eyed his slowly reddening face, apoplectic with rage.

"um…no?" I tried.

AN: And another chapter bites the dust. Sorry I can't write fluff…reviews are LOVE!

**And thanks to last week's reviewers…**

**Wild-vixen, augurycry, sunkissed guacamole, drop your obe, music nerd, insouciant, spunkyhufflepuff13, **

**Music nerd: I wouldn't call it filler, EXACTLY, but you're right, it was a slow chapter. I probably wouldn't show my face either, but perhaps Gary is made of stronger stuff then us…thanks for your review! **


	8. The end, and what happened after

AN: sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry. I know it's been forever. But here, finally, is the long-awaited final chapter. Oh, and I have a livejournal! (I know, I'm like the only person in the world who didn't have one…) still, Please take a look when you have a moment to drop me a line. (link is on the profile page)

_Perfection is a road, not a destination. Every time I live, I get an education. _

_-Burk Hudson_

The end, and what happened after… 

In many ways, my story was over; looking back now, however, I realise that in many ways it was only the beginning. I realise I rather left you hanging there back in the bedroom with my father. However, I'll warn you that the conclusion of the bedroom tête-à-tête was considerably less exciting than the beginning.

"Gary," my father asked in a dangerously controlled voice, "was that Cynthera of Elden in your closet?" I eyed my father's apoplectic countenance with trepidation and coughed slightly.

"Er…No?" I replied hopefully. Looking as if he was trying hard to resist rolling his eyes, my Father marched towards the wardrobe, yanking the door open. I winced slightly as Cythera tumbled out, looking unlike her usual graceful self. My father raised an eyebrow in an unnecessarily smug manner. I frowned anxiously at my father, doing my best to appear vaguely puzzled.

"Really father," I began in what I hoped was a concerned tone, "do you get these, well, I don't like to call them hallucinations, but…" I trailed off delicately, "it can happen, you know, as one gets older—"

"My office, Gareth," He interrupted, "_Now_"

"You know," I commented, "you look remarkably like Alan when you're angry. Uncanny," I remarked, "what? I'm going." Throwing Cythera a vaguely apologetic glance, I followed my irate father, my mind already buzzing with ways to get out of the spot I was in.

As it happened, it was easier than I had anticipated. After convincing The Man that yes, Cythera's virtue was indeed as intact as ever, and that no, I didn't plan on making a habit of kidnapping court ladies and stuffing them in my closet, and that no, I had no idea what the Delia Incident that caused Jon to leap into my closet was, he let me go. Sort of. As punishment for my lack of decorum and propriety as well as disturbing the peace, I seemed to be doing all the chores for the entire palace for the nest ten years. But as long as he wasn't threatening to disembowel me, I wasn't going to complain.

"You know, son," he told me as I got up to leave the office, "you want to watch yourself. It's little things that you do now which never seem of much importance that'll come back to haunt you. Just so you know." Indeed, I thought.

After this, Cythera and I were considerably more cautious about our assignations. To our relief, not a scrap of gossip made the rounds of the sort about us. We didn't even let our friends know, at least until Jon and Alan walked in on us. Neither of them looked remarkably surprised, to be honest.

"Well," Alan had commented, rolling his eyes, "It makes more sense than your excuse of having tea with your great aunt, what, every three days?"

"That's my boy," Jon had told me, winking in an alarmingly sleazy way, "knew you had it in you."

Our relationship was, well, turbulent would be one way to put it. Our personalities clashed frequently, and neither of us forgave easily. And that was the reason we decided to call it quits about one month later, when her mother asked her to return home for a while. At first, it felt like my heart had been torn out of my chest, and I wrote to her every day, begging her to come back. Eventually, however, I wrote less and less, until we never seemed to bother at all.

After all, I had my share of distractions. The new court ladies each seemed more beautiful then the next, the political situation was getting messy, and I dove in with gusto. And then Alan turned out not to be Alan at all, but Alanna, a fact that turned the court on it's ear, and had the entire kingdom in an uproar for a good year or so. With Duke Roger's death, there were an endless stream of nobles with damaged pride and a conspiracy to be uprooted. Just as things were settling down again, however, King Roald died, and the palace collapsed around itself once again. As Prime Minister, I was in the thick of things once again, by now having completely forgotten about Cythera of Elden. About a year after the second attempt by Roger to seize power, things were finally quiet enough for my mother to pull me aside, and (once again) demand to know when I was getting married.

"I don't know, Mother," I had snapped impatiently, "fix me up with some pretty and clever girl and I'll be happy. Now, if you don't mind? I have to finish this letter to the Gallan Ambassador by tonight…"

"I don't know Gareth," she had replied doubtfully, "I'll discuss it with your father, but…"

Three weeks later, my father, with an outlandish amount of glee announced his son's betrothal to Lady Cythera of Elden. When I first saw her glide down the stairs after she returned, I fell in love all over again. She was, if possible even more beautiful than I remembered. Her carefree, almost foolish airs had been tempered with maturity, though she had lost none of her playfulness. She was more woman than waif, and the combination of knowledge and beauty made he irresistible. Always lovely, she was now intoxicating. That first day of re-acquaintance was…awkward. But within a few days, we had fallen into old habits, talking for hours, and laughing about everything.

We learn early in life that there are no such things as happy endings. Cythera and I would have our share of petty squabbles about things like whether to use the gold platters or the silver. Fairy tales are just that: stories. No tale in life ends perfectly. There are no perfect moments in life. But when I saw her enter the chapel on our wedding day, looking like the goddess herself, when the healers put my first-born son in my arms for the first time, I realised that that doesn't really matter. Life isn't perfect, but enough of it is pretty damn close.

AN: And…there it is! MANY thanks to all my reviewers who inspired me, flattered me, and gave me a much-needed whack in the butt when it was needed. I couldn't have done it without you. I've enjoyed writing this story, and am rather sad to see it go. If you're interested in what I'm doing next, please check my profile page.

**Last week's reviewers: Ithinki'macheesetray, megan, midnight thunder, pianoscene, bookwormsrock sopia fallon, spunky huffelpuff13, music nerd, insouciant, Augureycry, wild-vixen, Nazgulgirl, sunkissed guacamole. **

**All reviewers for this chapter get a left-over chocolate egg. **

**Ciao! **


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